“My shoulder hurts like hell.”

“When did you take your last pain pill?”

“I’m overdue.”

Kate put down her cup, went into the bathroom, and came out with a Percodan and a glass of water.

Tully took the pill and washed it down.

“Now,” Kate said, retaking her seat. “You want to talk about what’s really wrong?”

“No.”

“Come on, Tully. I know you’re thinking about Chad, wondering if you did the right thing.”

“This is the problem with forever friends. They know too much.”

“Maybe.”

“And what do you and I know about love anyway?”

Kate’s face took on that sad, semi-judgmental look that Tully hated. It was almost a poor-Tully look. “I know about love,” she said quietly. “Maybe not being in love or being loved, but I know about loving someone and how much it can hurt. I think if you really loved Chad, you’d know it, and you’d be in Tennessee right now. At least, if I loved someone, I’d know it.”

“Everything is always black and white with you. How do you always know what you want?”

“You know what you want, Tully. You always have.”

“So I don’t get to fall in love? That’s my price for fame and success? Always being alone?”

“Of course you can fall in love. You just have to let yourself. They don’t call it falling for nothing.”

The words should have comforted Tully; they were intended to be hopeful, she knew that, but just then, she couldn’t feel that optimism. Rather, she felt colder and emptier having heard them from Kate. “There’s something missing in me,” she said quietly. “First my dad saw it. Whoever the hell he is; he must have taken one look at me and run. And let’s not even discuss my loving mother. I’m . . . easy to leave. Why is that?”

Kate scooted down the couch, leaned against Tully just the way they used to, all those years ago on the banks of the Pilchuck. The snack box poked into her back and she pulled it out from behind her and tossed it onto the messy, newspaper-strewn coffee table. “There’s nothing missing in you, Tully. It’s the opposite, in fact. You’re more than most people. You are really, really special, and if Chad didn’t see that—or couldn’t wait for you to be ready for him—then he wasn’t the guy for you. Maybe that’s a normal problem when you’re with an older guy. He’s ready to land when you’re just taking off.”

“That’s true. I am young. I forgot about that. He should have understood that and waited for me. I mean, if he really loved me, how could he have left me? Could you leave someone you loved?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“If I thought he was ever going to love me back.”

“How long would you wait?”